The Bounty Hunter
by Jack Cross
Summary: When a young man wakes up with no memory of himself or the land around him, no one could have predicted the kind of shockwaves it would send throughout the state of New Austin. Seeing no other alternative, he turns to bounty hunting in order to make a living and survive. But the road ahead is difficult, filled with all kinds of dangers. Dangers which he has no problem facing.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys, I'm here with another pet project of mine. Now I know this particular subject isn't read much anymore, but I figured with RDR 2 coming out soon I'd go ahead and get this out. There's also the fact that I hadn't really seen a concept like this one so I figured 'eh, might as well be me'.**

 **I do not own RDR, everything belongs to Rockstar and others.**

 _"_ _You do realize this won't be easy, starting over as you want to."_

 _"_ _I don't care."_

 _"_ _Still, I feel compelled that I should warn you..."_

 _"_ _Just get it over with." There was a long silent pause._

 _"_ _As you wish."_

His eyes flew open, and he sucked air into his lungs as if he had just been submerged underwater. Instantly pain flooded his chest and mid section, leaving him gasping and taking shallower breaths. He was laying on a bed, well more like a mattress with just a sheet. Above him was a plain wooden ceiling with a kerosine lantern hanging from one of the rafters. To his right, hanging from the wooden plank walls was a cow hide.

Forcing himself to sit up slightly, he could see that he was in a small room that appeared to be a storage space. At the foot of the bed was an old fashioned wood burning stove, a chair, and a butter churn. Off to his left sat a nightstand with another lantern on it, along with a few empty glass bottles. Looking down at himself, he got a good look at his body as it was stretched out before him.

His midsection was wrapped in bandages, which explained why it hurt to breathe and move. He was wearing a pair of off color gray trousers, and was barefoot. Sunlight flooded in through the window that was above the nightstand, as well as the other ones that were present around the room, indicating that it was daytime.

The sound of a wooden door creaking open off to his left caused him to try and sit up a little further. However this was rewarded with more pain, and he fell onto his back struggling for breath. A pained moan escaped his lips as his head hit the pillow.

"Well, you're alive." He turned his head toward the sound of the new voice. A blonde haired woman wearing a white blouse, tan vest, dress skirt, and fancy turquoise necklace was standing in the doorway, looking down at him. She was beautiful, in her mid to late twenties if he had to guess. But she had a hardened, tough vibe about her as well. Her hair was tied back into a short pony tail.

"That explains it," he said, panting from the effort of having tried to get up. Dead people didn't feel pain. Unless they were in Hell, which he doubted he was.

"How are you feeling?" the woman asked.

"Like I got steamrolled by a freight train," he confessed. His whole body had a dull ache to it, and it hurt to take anything deeper then a shallow breath.

"I'm not surprised. When we found you alongside the road, it looked like your horse had rolled over top of you. The doctor said you have a few cracked ribs," the woman explained. He frowned at that. He didn't remember riding a horse. Actually, come to think of it, he didn't remember much of anything beyond when he had woken up a few minutes ago. This was something he found alarming, but he didn't show it mainly because of the pain from his ribs.

"What were you doing out there? Did you get waylaid by road agents?" the woman asked.

"I don't remember," he replied.

"Well, where are you from?"

"I don't remember that either." The woman folded her arms and an impatient scowl appeared on her face.

"Well what do you remember?" she asked.

"English," he replied curtly as he tried to sit up again, rapidly becoming annoyed at being questioned so much. The woman sighed and made her way over to him before helping him up so he was sitting on the side of the bed.

"I'm sorry for getting short with you. You took a pretty bad ding to the head, the doctor said there might be some memory loss," she said. He just sat there, trying to regain his breath. Now that he was upright, he didn't feel as much pain in his midsection.

"Do you remember your name, at least?" she asked. He blinked a few times, as if he was trying to clear sleep from his eyes.

"Court," he finally answered.

"Court?"

"Yeah, as in 'guilty!'" he said before stamping his foot on the floorboard, imitating a judge in a court of law. This earned a chuckle and a smile from the woman.

"Pleased to meet you, Court. I'm Bonnie MacFarlane. Ms. Bonnie MacFarlane." In any other situation, Court might have picked up on the emphases she put on the word Ms. But his current condition kept him from doing so.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. MacFarlane," Court said as he tried to stand, leaning heavily on the nightstand as he did so. Bonnie placed a hand on his shoulder and eased him back onto the bed.

"None of that, now. You need to get all the rest you can so those ribs can heal," she said. Court was too tired and weak to protest, much less fight back.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"We're on my ranch, well, my father's ranch, Mr?" she paused, waiting for his last name.

"Lonergan," he answered. Was that right? It sounded right, so he stuck with it.

"Well, Mr. Lonergan, don't you go moving around too much and break those bandages. We had to pay the doctor fifteen dollars in order to patch you up," she said, "now you just lay here and rest up. We're gonna need you in top shape in order for you to start paying us back." Court didn't bother fighting it. In the condition he was in, it wasn't like he could get very far anyway.

* * *

Court slept a majority of the time over the course of the next few days. The only time he got up was either to use the bathroom or eat what little food Bonnie brought him at meal times. His sleep was usually dreamless, but when he did dream they were too chaotic for him to make sense of. By the morning of the third day, he was able to move around on his own fairly well.

Bonnie brought him some of the clothes they had found him in. An off color button down shirt that may have been white at one point, a denim vest, a pair of boots, and a black wide brimmed hat. After dressing himself, Court stepped out into the morning sunlight and looked around. This was the first time he'd actually gotten a chance to look at the ranch, and what he saw impressed him.

Standing tied off to a post by the porch of his place of residence was a horse. It was a turkmen, dark bay in color with a line of white down the center of its face right between it's eyes. Bonnie had informed him that this was the horse they had found when they had found him, so they assumed it belonged to him.

"Hey boy, you know me?" he asked, gently reaching his hand out and placing it on the horse's face. It snorted and flicked it's ears, as if to say 'of course'. Court struggled to try and remember this animal, but only came up with very brief flashes, none of which he could make sense of. A name, however, did come to mind.

"Cochise, is that your name?" he asked. The horse flared its nostrils and dipped its head, but otherwise didn't give an answer, not that he was expecting one. Patting Cochise on the side, Court turned his attention to the rest of the ranch.

Off to his right were a fairly large set of corrals and sheds, while to his left was a circle of cabins that housed the ranch hands. Directly ahead of him was a low single story wooden building, and directly across the road from that was a large barn sitting next to a windmill. Walking his way to the road, Court looked both ways before starting toward his left. Across the road from him was a low, single story brick building. A sigh over the front door named the place as the ranch's foreman's office. Back on the side of the road he was on was what Court could only assume to be the main house. It was a massive, two story wooden structure with faded white paint, a fence surrounding the yard, and a massive tree to give it shade.

As he walked, Court found that he couldn't shake the feeling that something was just...wrong. It wasn't the lack of memories or general idea of who he was, although that contributed to it. No, it was a feeling that he didn't belong, and not a city person in a rural setting kind of way either. Everything felt off, primitive somehow. Like it all should have been much more advanced then it was, the people riding horses or wagons, even the train he'd heard coming and going from time to time. Then he spied Bonnie, and his uneasiness vanished somewhat.

Bonnie was leaning on railing of the front porch, looking out over the ranch. Out of everything that had happened the past couple of days, the woman was one of the few things that was constant in Court's life. She was a reminder that he wasn't going crazy, and that there was still sanity in the world. Even if that sanity was full of sarcastic comments and general back talk.

"Ah, Mr. Lonergan, how are you feeling?" she asked when she noticed him walking up the stairs of the porch.

"Much better, Ms."

"I'm glad to hear that. How's your head?" she asked, tapping her temple with her finger, indicating his memory.

"Still hazy at best," he replied. Bonnie frowned at that. They had both hoped that as his body recovered, so would his mind. It seemed this was not to be the case.

"I'm sorry to hear that. In any case, do you think you're healthy enough to do some work? We could use a hand around here," Bonnie said.

"I'll give it a try, no promises though." As it turned out, Court wasn't the best rancher in the world. Trying to heard cattle was something he found frustrating. Horse riding was something he could handle, however breaking them usually resulted in him getting bucked off. They finally found something he was good at in the night patrols around the ranch. Bonnie had armed him with an old Spencer carbine and set him loose against a few targets. They found that shooting was something that came like breathing to him, and while he was on night patrol he found it familiar, as if he had done something like this before.

"My, my, what kind of dangerous outlaw had I brought into our midst?" she asked one evening about a week after he had woken up. He had just shot a coyote that was on the run with a chicken in it's mouth from about halfway across the ranch. Evidently, the shot was enough to impress the woman. Her comment, however, had him frowning even though it was meant as a joke.

Court had almost no idea what his life had been like before he'd lost his memory. Based on his skill with a firearm, it was quite possible that he actually had been a dangerous outlaw. However a quick check with telegraph office in the ranch's train station confirmed that there was no warrant out for the arrest of one Court Lonergan.

It was the morning after the coyote incident that things took a change for the different. Court approached the main house for his daily chores. What he'd found was a wagon hitched up and ready to go, and Bonnie seemingly waiting on him.

"Ah, Mr. Lonergan, moving around later then usual I see," she said.

"That ain't my fault. Amos burnt most of breakfast," Court replied. The ranch hands usually ate from a central communal fire ring, with each one taking turns on preparing a meal. This morning it had been a ranch hand by the name of Amos' turn to cook, and he had badly scorched the bacon he'd been trying to put together.

"I ain't surprised there. Amos always was lacking in the colliery department," Bonnie said.

"So what's going on today?" Court asked.

"Go saddle your horse, you're riding into town with me," came the reply. He arched his eyebrows in surprise, but didn't say anything in argument. For over a week now he'd been ready to get out and stretch, explore the area around the ranch. The chance to go into town was not something he was willing to pass up.

"Oh by the way, you'll need this. Took if off ya when we found you," Bonnie said as he started to turn away, tossing him a leather belt wrapped around a bundle. Court caught it with ease and realized that it was a gun and gunbelt. Sitting in the holster was a Colt Single Action Army, worn from years of use, but well oiled and maintained. Looking up from the belt, he gave Bonnie a look of confusion. Everything else had been given back to him, why wait this long to return this?

"Didn't know who we were dealing with yet," Bonnie said as if that explained everything. Rather then press the matter, Court turned and walked off toward his cabin. He pulled on the belt and tightened it around his waist as he walked. The belt felt familiar, like he was wearing a favorite shirt. He gave the gun a few test draws and found that it came smoothly to him. Satisfied, Court set to saddling his horse before returning to Bonnie.

The two had found that while riding was something he could do, handling a team of horses to pull a wagon was not. Thus, here they were now with Bonnie driving the wagon and Court riding along side her on his own mount.

"So, Mr. Lonergan..."

"If it's all the same to you, Ms, I'd rather you just called me Court," Court interrupted.

"Alright, Court. But you'll have to lay off the 'Ms.' and just call me Bonnie," came the reply. Court gave the rancher a smirk.

"I think I can handle that."

"Good, now as I was saying, how have you been getting along?" she asked.

"I'm doing alright, I suppose. The work is hard, but there's food for me to eat and a bed to sleep on," he said. Granted he could have used some of the finer things in life, like a bed that wasn't as hard as a plank or a pocket full of cash, but he was too polite to say something like that. His main focus had been on paying Bonnie back for the money he owed her. Now that this debt was almost repaid, he needed a plan for what to do next.

"I'm glad to hear. So what are your plans now?" she asked as if reading his mind.

"Now...I'm not entirely sure, to be honest. Part of me likes what I've got here now. It ain't much, but its better then being homeless and completely destitute. The other part of me got this itch to get out there and find out who I am, make my own way," he said.

"Sounds like the rational part and foolhardy part of your brain are fighting," Bonnie quipped dryly.

"All I know is this; if a man doesn't know who he is, then he doesn't have much of anything," he replied.

* * *

The town of Armadillo wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination. It consisted of a single main street, with two rows of buildings down each side, each row containing five individual buildings. On the west end of town sat the train station, while on the east sat a pair of two story structures along side the sheriff's office.

Court took in all of the town as he rode alongside Bonnie. For being small, the place seemed to have everything you'd expect in a town. A doctor's office, a barber and dentist office, a gunsmith, a general store, a saloon, even a bank.

"Armadillo. Manhattan it is not," Bonnie said sarcasticly as she brought the wagon to a halt in front of the General Store.

"Doesn't seem like much, but it looks functional," Court replied as he leaned forward on his saddle.

"It has it's perks. Why don't you go see the Marshal? Ask around, maybe someone here has seen you before," Bonnie suggested as she climbed down from the wagon. Court gave her a wary look.

"Don't you need help loading the wagon?" he asked.

"I can manage on my own. You go on, look around, you earned it. Just don't get yourself shot," she said. Court just shook his head.

"Bonnie, you wound me with how little faith you have in me," he said before turning his horse and trotting toward the low white building on the edge of town with the sign 'Sheriff' hanging over front of it. Bringing his horse to a halt, Court swung down from the saddle and tied it off to a hitching post that sat next to the steps leading up to the front door of the building.

Adjusting his hat slightly, Court walked up into the office and out of the heat of the mid morning sun bearing down on him. The Sheriff's Office, much like the rest of the town, wasn't much to behold. A few cells lined the far wall. A desk with a gun rack behind it sat in the corner off to his left, and an open area that seemed to be a waiting area was off to his right. The front door was standing wide open, probably as a means of trying to keep the interior of the building cool.

There were only two other men in the building besides Court himself. The first was sitting in a locked cell with his arms folded like he was a board child pouting in time out. Meanwhile the second cell was standing wide open, while the man inside lay on the bed and snored rather loudly. Judging by what he had seen, Court figured that the first man was a prisoner, while the second was a lawman who was very, very inept at his job.

"Law enforcement at its finest," he muttered.

"Ain't it just," the prisoner said, clearly just as annoyed by the sleeping man as Court was. Still, he picked up a pebble from the floor and tossed it through the bars.

"Hey, HEY! Ya got a visitor," he said as the man began to wake up. The lawman sat up and snorted before rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Shut up, you!" he said, gesturing toward the prisoner. Turning his head, he realized that the prisoner was actually right and there was someone else in the room.

"What you want?" he asked, his thick southern draw clear as day.

"I was told to come find the Marshal. And I hope to God that ain't you," Court said as he hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt. The lawman stood and spat a black lump of tobacco juice into a corner. He stopped in the cell door and leaned against the bars. Overall he was greasy and unclean, with a bowler hat, a dark colored shirt, gray button down vest, and a pair of blue jeans. A shiny star sat on his chest, designating him as a law man.

"You that fella from the train company?"

"No."

"Then where ya from?"

"McFarlane Ranch, I guess," Court said. The lawman perked up at that.

"MacFarlane? You with them Bollard Twins?" he asked, drawing his gun and aiming it at Court. The young man felt a cool sense wash over him as he stared down the black barrel of the lawman's gun. Rather then panic, he drew his own gun and aimed right back.

"Calm down," he said, his voice level. The prisoner had gotten excited by the sudden turn of events. He was up out of his seat and at the bars, eager to see what would happen next.

"Shoot 'em, mister!" he said, hoping to spur on violence. Court just ignored him. The lawman had both hands on his gun and was visibly shaking, while Court only had one hand and was steady as a rock.

"What's going on here?" came a voice from behind Court in the open doorway. He sounded tired and annoyed, like a parent breaking up a fight between two children for the umpteenth time.

"I got me one of them Bollard Twin boys!" the lawman aiming at his gun at Court declared, as if he was relieved to see someone arrive to back him up.

"I got me an idiot lawman who's bound to get more people shot then saved," Court replied. All he had said was where he had been staying. Sure, there was a local gang that operated not too far from the ranch, but that didn't mean Court was working with them. Not by a long shot.

"Jonah, put your gun down," the new man said. Reluctantly, Jonah lowered his pistol, and Court did the same, returning it to it's holster. Now that the situation was over, Court felt the cool and focused sensation wearing off. Maybe he had been in situations like this before. That would certainly explain his cool demeanor. Then again, Jonah had been so shaky that Court doubted he could have hit the ground with his hat in three tries.

"You must be the man Bonnie found alongside the road," the newcomer said. For the first time, Court got he chance to look at him. He had salt and pepper hair with a gray well trimmed beard. He was wearing a white shirt with a maroon vest, and had a lit cigar hanging from his mouth. A white wide brimmed hat sat atop his head, and a pair of revolvers hung from either hip on his gunbelt.

"That's right. Court Lonergan," he said holding out his hand to shake. The newcomer shook it before leaning against the desk and taking off his hat.

"Marshal Leigh Johnson. What can I do for you, Mr. Lonergan?" he asked.

"Well, Marshal. I was hoping you had something that could help me. A missing person's report, someone seeing me get off the train here, that sort of thing," Court explained. Johnson nodded as he plucked the cigar from his lips.

"Jonah, get out of here for a while," he said as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Johnson, sir," Jonah said as he started walking toward the door. The entire time, he was sending Court a stink eye.

"You, I done seen enough of your hide around here," he said.

"I think there's some kids down the way you can go scare," Court replied, clearly not intimidated in the slightest by the Deputy.

"Oh, hardy fuckin' har! Dickhead," Jonah said before walking out the door.

"I'm sorry to say, Mr. Lonergan, no one's come forward with either a warrant or a missing person's report for you. If there is anyone out there looking, they're clearly not looking here," Johnson said once his deputy was gone.

"I tried the telegraph office at the ranch and turned up nothing. This was my next option," Court said.

"Well, I'm sorry to say that I can't help you much more in that regard. That being said, if you're up for it, I might have a job for you." Court eyed the Marshal warily.

"I'm not sure I'm cut out to wear a tin star, Marshal," he said.

"Neither was I, yet here I stand. You showed a level head when dealing with Jonah just a little bit ago. Most ranch hands would have panicked and shot him, but you didn't. That tells me you can handle yourself in stressful situations, and I could use a man like that," Johnson said.

"So what? I walk into your office, point a gun at one of your deputies and get a job?" Court asked, not believing his ears.

"Not quite. You gotta put in an application, if you're interested," the Marshal replied before handing him a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, Court was surprised to see that it wasn't an application, but a wanted poster. The man depicted was wanted for assault with a bounty of forty dollars.

"What's the catch?" he asked, looking up from the poster.

"Simple. You bring him back, alive, and the job is yours," Johnson said. Court looked back down at the poster. Forty dollars wasn't much, but it was a good start. When every cent was worth something, forty dollars could go a long way.

"Looks like I'm going into the bounty hunting business."

 **And cut, that's a wrap for the first chapter. Like I said in the beginning, I hadn't really seen any stories with the concept of someone else going on the adventures in Red Dead besides John. For those of you who are familiar with my work, you may recognize the names in the title and the main character. A while back I had a story with the same title and main character, however it was set in Legend of Korra, and in the end it didn't really pan out. But now I've brought it back, this time in a setting that makes much more sense.**

 **But anyway, enough of that for now. Please please remember to review or PM. Let me know what you liked or didn't like, and I'll see you all next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, back with a new chapter. I wanted to get this one out quickly and give you all a little bit better of a grasp on Court. Hopefully you all will enjoy this:**

It was nighttime with an unusual chill in the air as Quinn Malloy added some more twigs to his fire. He was huddled in the brick remains of the foundation at Mercer Station, trying to save off the evening chill. The man was tall and broad, with long shaggy unkempt hair hanging down from underneath a bowler hat. All in all, Quinn looked like a thug. Which helped, because he was a thug. The reason Quinn was out here, and not in the saloon back in Armadillo was because of his temper. He'd gotten a little too drunk and a little too handsy with one of the girls in the saloon. Things escalated, and he'd come to choking the woman down threatening to cut her with his knife. The bartender had threatened to blast him full of buckshot, so Quinn had taken off, riding to camp out here for a few days in order to let things blow over.

As he sat there, poking the fire, Quinn began to contemplate what he was going to do next. Threatening the woman, drunk or not, had no doubt earned him a black mark in both the saloon and amongst the women of Armadillo in general. No, Quinn figured his days in the small town were done. He'd have to move on, find someplace new. Maybe he'd head east. Thieves' Landing seemed to be like his kind of town, maybe he could find a place there. Seemed better then sitting next to a campfire in the middle of a ruin in the middle of no where anyway.

The sound of horse hooves on packed earth reached his ears, causing him to perk up and peer into the night. His hand instinctively went for his gun as he peered into the gloom, trying to see who was coming up on him. Quinn had a fear that the law would come looking for him after what had happened. Needless to say, he was more then willing to fight and kill in order to remain free.

"Who's there?" he called out into the night.

"Relax, friend. I saw your fire and was curious," came the reply. The rider and horse slowly melted out of the darkness, appearing before him like a ghostly rider in tails he had been told when he was growing up. Granted that only caused Quinn to be more on edge.

"Who are you?" he asked the rider.

"Name's Lonergan. Mind if I get down and warm up next to your fire? I got a lot of miles to cover tonight," came the reply. For Quinn, it was slowly dawning on him that this man was no threat. Well, he didn't mean him harm anyway. Because of that, he lowered his gun and allowed the young man to come forward. Lonergan swung down from the saddle and come forward, kneeling next to the fire in order to get warmer.

Malloy studied the newcomer more now that he was close to the firelight. He was in his younger twenties with closely cropped black hair and a well trimmed beard resting on his cheeks and jawline. There was a gun on his hip, but that didn't tell him much of anything. Anyone with half a brain out here knew to carry a gun. Those who didn't usually met their fate with the fangs of a wildcat, or a pack of wolves.

"I can't thank you enough for letting me warm up here. What did you say your name was?" the newcomer asked.

"Quinn. Quinn Malloy," he replied hesitantly, keeping his gun ready. There was a chance that the Marshal in Armadillo had issued a warrant for his arrest. If that was the case, then it was possible that this rider had seen a wanted poster with his mug on it.

"Pleased to meet you, Quinn. Quite a nice night, isn't it?" Lonergan said. Quinn slowly returned his gun to it's place on his belt. This man hadn't seen his face on a wanted poster. Hell, this guy was probably some young stud out of Blackwater or some other place back east who thought that he'd give the ruggedness of New Austin a try.

"Bit cool for my taste," Quinn replied. Although, now that he thought about it, a young buck from back east probably had cash on him. Cash which Quinn both needed and wanted if he was planning on heading to Thieves' Landing in order to start over. He could do it quick and easy, the greenhorn would never see it coming. Middle of the desert in the middle of the night, who would know? He'd be long gone before even the buzzards found the body.

"Well, I got my joints all thawed out," Lonergan said as he stood up straight and stretched, popping a few muscles in his back. If he was going to do it, he had to do it now, before the stranger got away. It was simple, all he had to do was draw and shoot. The stranger would be dead before he ever drew his gun.

BANG!

The shot echoed through the night. Quinn hit the ground, the air knocked from his lungs from the force on the impact. His right shoulder was on fire, causing him to scream out in pain. He found he couldn't move his arm in order to draw his own gun and fire back. This wasn't possible, it was a dream, it had to be.

Quinn hadn't even seen Lonergan draw his gun. Yet the young stud he was getting ready to rob and possibly kill had just gotten the drop on him, shooting him in the shoulder so he couldn't use his gun arm. Footsteps reached Quinn's ears as he clutched his shoulder with his good hand, his cries of pain having melted into whimpers.

Lonergan appeared overhead, his face against the star filled sky high above. Gone was the happy innocent traveler from before. Here now was a man with a more permanent scowl on his face. The kind of man you could tell carried an underlying, simmering rage. Rather then speak, he raised his pistol and cracked Quinn hard upside the head, knocking him out cold.

For Court, it hadn't been overly hard tracking Quinn down. The guy was fairly well known around the saloon, and after the stunt he had pulled there were several prostitutes and even a few patrons who were more then happy to give him up. Finding Mercer Station hadn't been all that hard either. 'Just follow the main road' is what everyone in town had told him. Sure enough, he'd found the old remains of the station, along with his target sitting in the middle with a blazing fire as if it was a signal beacon.

Now the easy part was over. The hard part was getting this lug of a man loaded onto his horse. Lifting over two hundred pounds of dead weight was not easy.

"Good God, lay off the sweets," he grunted as he managed to get the man loaded up. He didn't bother tying him up. The wound in his shoulder would be more then enough to ensure that he couldn't put up much of a fight, assuming he actually woke up before they got back to town.

When he had finished loading him onto his horse, Court took one last look around the campsite. He grabbed a few things that might come in useful later, but otherwise kicked the fire out and swung back up into the saddle. It was a long and cold ride back to Armadillo, and he wanted it done as soon as possible.

* * *

The sun was rising in the east, but Marshal Johnson was already up and on the clock. A late night/early morning fight that had broken out in the saloon had resulted in the Marshal having to bring in a few guys to sleep off their whiskey. Regardless of how tired he was, he was awake now and someone needed to watch the jail in order to keep the prisoners in line.

The sound of a horse neighing was enough to get the Marshal's attention. Not even the ranch hands were up moving at this time of day yet. Looking up from his desk and out the window, Johnson was surprised to see the young man he'd spoken to the day before riding alone up the main street of town. Slumped across the back of his saddle was a body.

Standing, Johnson made his way outside to the front porch of the Sheriff's Office. Court rode up and unceremoniously dropped the body from his saddle, which gave out a pained yell when it hit the ground. The Marshal blinked in surprise. The bounty target was alive, despite all evidence to the contrary.

"One Quinn Malloy, as promised," Court said. Johnson walked forward and kicked the outlaw onto his back.

"Well, he's alive, I suppose I should give you credit for that," he said.

"You said alive, Marshal. You didn't say in what condition," Court replied.

"Hm, I suppose I didn't. Come on, Malloy, we got a nice cozy cell for you," Johnson said as he haled the prisoner to his feet.

"Should probably have a doctor look at him so he doesn't bleed out," Court suggested as the Marshal dragged the man inside and locked him in a cell. With this task done, he walked back outside and put his hands on his hips as he regarded the young man.

"I'll get the doc over here to look at him shortly. In the meantime, you and I got matters to discuss."

"I still ain't cut out to be a lawman, Marshal." Johnson frowned at that. He had hoped that with a little time the young man might change his mind.

"All the same, you did a good job. I could use your help again in the future if you're willing to offer it," he said as he tossed Court a small wad of bills. The young man caught the cash and quickly counted it. It was the exact amount of the reward money that was offered.

"I just might do that. Be seein' you around, Marshal," Court said before tipping the brim of his hat and digging his heels into the flanks of his horse. The rider took off at a high loap around the corner and out of town, riding east toward the rising sun. Johnson watched him go for a moment before he turned and headed toward the doctor's office. If a prisoner died in his jail, it'd take him weeks to get the smell out.

* * *

Court had a lot to think about on the ride back to the Ranch. A few days ago, the only future he seemed to have was being a ranch hand. But now, he'd seen several new possibilities open up with what the bounty trade had to offer. Sure, Malloy's payout had only been forty bucks. But he had been a small time no body wanted for threatening a prostitute. There were other meaner, nastier people out there with much higher prices on their head.

The past few weeks had taught him that Court wasn't really the best ranch hand. But what he was good at was using a gun. Now he could go the rotten way and kill or steal in order to survive, or, he could do a legal and public service that payed well. Plus, being a bounty hunter offered him more freedoms than being a regular lawman did. He could set his own hours, go where he pleased, and more or less do what he wanted within reason. Provided some disgruntled bounty target didn't put a bullet in him and leave him for dead along the side of the road somewhere.

It was about nine in the morning when Court slowed his horse to a walk at the western edge of the Ranch. The place was already abuzz with activity as ranch hands went about doing their daily chores. Court rode past them, eager to get to his small cabin and sleep. He had been up all night, riding across half of the two counties, and it was starting to wear on him.

"Court!" The young man could have fallen out of the saddle with dissapointment. He had been hoping to avoid Bonnie, at least until he got some sleep. It seemed the blonde woman also had an eagle eye. Court brought his horse to a halt in front of the cabin and swung down from the saddle before looking in the direction the voice had come from. Sure enough, here came Bonnie Macfarlane, storming toward him.

"Mornin' Bonnie," he said tiredly as he tied off his horse.

"There you are, you stupid man, where have you been? Getting drunk and playing poker in town all night?" she asked. Court could help but chuckle slightly. He barely had enough money to buy a train ticket, much less spend a whole night gambling and drinking all night.

"Not quite," he replied.

"Then where have you been?! You were suppose to be back hours ago."

"I went and saw the Marshal like you said. I was doing a job for him," Court replied. Bonnie cocked her eyebrow in surprise.

"You were doing a job for Leigh Johnson?" she asked, not quite believing it.

"That's right. Oh by the way, there's the money I owe you, plus a little interest," Court answered, reaching into his vest and tossing her the wad of cash Johnson had given him for the bounty payout. Bonnie looked at the money in her hand, not believing her eyes. When she finally got over her stupor, she followed Court inside his small cabin.

"So now that you've paid your debt off, what are you gonna do now?" she asked. Court had taken off his hat and set it on the bed before removing his gunbelt and wrapping the belt around the holster. With this done, he sat it on the nightstand next to the bed, handle facing the bed so he could grab it if need be.

"Now I'll probably stick around the ranch a little longer, earn some cash properly." he answered.

"You know you'll always have a place here, if you want it," Bonnie said. He gave her a tired smile.

"Bonnie, if I didn't know better I'd say you were going soft on me," he replied.

"Hm. Come in like that again and I'll bloody your backside with a birch myself," she said before turning and walking off. Court stood in the doorway for a moment and watched her go, admiring the sway of her hips as she walked. Then he closed the door, not wanting to be caught for looking too long.

It'd be a lie to say he didn't find Bonnie attractive. The woman had several good qualities about her. Sure she was bossy, had a tendency to sass, and spoke her mind regardless of who was present or what the topic was. But she was also strong willed, successful, and not too bad on the eyes to boot. She might have been a touch naive to the on goings of the world beyond the boundaries of the ranch, but she wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination.

That was probably why she didn't have any romantic companions, at least not ones Court had seen. Court had met her father, Drew, but beyond that he hadn't seen any other siblings to help run the ranch. According to Bonnie, almost all of them were dead, while her one living brother was back east somewhere being a banker or something. She had dedicated every part of her being to running this ranch, and considering the location it wasn't much of a surprise that she didn't have any suitors calling.

Of course there was always the ranch hands she could pick from, but that wasn't much of a crowd to look at. Besides, they were all kind of afraid of her. Drew may have been the boss and head of the ranch, but Bonnie was the enforcer without a doubt. That didn't mean that Court was afraid of her. He got along with her quite well, when they weren't bickering that is.

Now this didn't necessary mean that Court was looking for a relationship of any kind with Bonnie beyond friendship. He was still trying to recover his memory and find out who he was, and a step like that just simply had to many risks. There was the possibility that who he was had been a rather nasty individual, one that Bonnie would be repulsed by. This also meant that some disgruntled person might show up one day and try to put a bullet in him. Then, there was the possibility that there was some woman out there waiting for his return, worried sick about him.

As he kicked off his boots and relaxed on his bed, Court dismissed this last thought. For quite a while, he'd felt this underlying anger at the world. The only way he could describe it was that he felt like he had been cheated, like something had been stolen from him. Not his memory, no this was something that he held more dear. It was like he had lost something of great personal value to him. Or someone. If that was the case, who or what had he lost?

Feeling this strongly about it, even after the loss of his memory, Court figured it was probably a person. Items, no matter their sentimental value, could only carry so much. A person carried far more then that. If it was a person he had lost, of what relation had they been to him? Had they died, or left him behind in some other manner? If they were alive, was there a chance of him finding them again? All of this just raised more questions, and made Court more frustrated.

Rather then think more on the topic, he closed his eyes and let the sleep he had been pursuing for so long finally claim him.

 **And that's a wrap for this time around. As always, please remember to read, review, and let me know what you liked or didn't like, and I'll see you all next time.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys, I'm back with another chapter. I don't have a whole lot to say, so let's get on with it:**

Thunder shook the Armadillo Jail, causing the metal bars on the cells and the glass of the windows to rattle. This did little to distract Johnson from his task as he cleaned his pair of revolvers, using an oiled cloth to rub the weapon down. Outside, a heavy down power was drowning the town. Despite the fact that it was early afternoon, the street was deserted as people sought shelter from the rain.

The Marshal didn't care much for the rain. Rain was often a mixed blessing. It watered the ground for the farmers, and kept the livestock hydrated for the ranchers. But it also brought floods and sometimes diseases. That was what had happened to his wife, Priscilla. She had been out in the rain too long, and had died of pneumonia some eight years ago now. So no, Johnson didn't have much of a reason to like the rain.

Still, it did have it's perks. A day like today was a slow one for someone in the Marshal's line of work. People didn't like going out into a downpour, and thus were less likely to venture forth from their homes and cause trouble. Even his deputies tended to keep to themselves on days like today. Jonah was probably holed up down in the saloon, while Eli was off doing whatever Eli did in his spare time.

The sound of a horse neighing and hooves slogging through mud was enough to draw Johnson away from his task. If anything, he was curious to see what lone person in this town was out riding in a storm. To his surprise, there was a lone rider sitting in the rain outside. Or, to be more specific, it was Court. The young man was wearing a worn duster in order to protect his clothing some from the down pour.

Standing from his seat, Johnson stepped out onto the front porch of the jail. Rather then say a word, or wait to be spoken to, Court simply grabbed the man he had slung over the back of his horse and dropped him into the mud.

"Jesus, boy, this is the third one this week! You couldn't wait until the weather let up a little?" he asked as the man who had been dropped from the horse sat up in a dazed manner. He was a black man, whose wild hair was wet down thanks to the water. He was tied up around the midsection, but his feet were kept free so he could walk.

"Two hundred and forty dollars is a lot of money to pass up, Marshal," Court said as he drew his gun and kept it aimed at the bounty target. Johnson leveled one of his own guns, ready to shoot should the man try anything.

"Rufus Higbee, you are under arrest for the crime of petty theft and being a general nuisance to the people of New Austin," the Marshal said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill, Marshal," Rufus said as he walked past Johnson and into the Jail. Johnson followed him, a bit more cautious then usual. Rufus had graced this place once or twice before, and he hadn't gone down without a fight before. He didn't lower his guard until the man was safely locked behind bars. With this task done, Johnson returned his pistol to its holster on his hip before he collected the reward money and walked back outside.

"How long you gonna be in town? I have something that I might need your help on," he said as he tossed the roll of bills to Court, who caught it with ease and stuffed it into the safety of his coat.

"At least until the rain lets up. I'll be down at the saloon if you need me," Court said before he turned his horse and trotted back up the street. Rather then hitch Cochise out front, he rode around to the side to the livery stable set up next door. A few bills to the stable boy insured that, despite the mud pit the grounds between the stable and the saloon had become, his horse would be cared for. Satisfied, Court turned and slogged his way back to the front door of the saloon.

Many of the people had retreated to the interior of the building, but a few were still outside, leaning on the railing and watching the storm. Court didn't pay them any mind as he walked past and pushed the batwing doors open. He could have gone for the classical move, where he paused in the doorway and looked over the interior while everyone in the barroom did so in kind to him.

But he didn't. Instead he made a beeline for the bar itself, where several ranch hands and other people were already standing. As he walked, he made a sweeping glance of the room out of the corner of his eye. The majority of people were just people, workers from around town or ranch hands who had come in and gotten caught by the storm. There were a few individuals who caught his eye as being potential trouble though.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.

"Whiskey, and a room to rent for a few months," Court replied as he laid some of the bills down. The bartender scooped up the cash before ducking under the bar. He came back up with a shot glass and a bottle containing the amber colored liquid.

"Room's just above us here, the one in the corner," he said, motioning upward with the bottle before he sat it down and walked off to tend to another customer. As Court pulled the cork from the bottle with a satisfying _thunk_ he returned to his thoughts once more.

The men in the room who might have caused some trouble were members of Walton's Gang, a group of road agents who tended to prey on the stagecoaches coming into and out of Armadillo. Members were easy to spot, as they all wore top hats with a red band on them. Personally, Court thought the attire was a little ridiculous. The hat made for a decent target if people started shooting.

Despite his lack of respect for their clothing, Court was still weary of them. Rufus had been the third member of their gang he had dragged in by their hair. Sooner or later, they'd start to get upset at the man who kept literally dragging their friends to prison. This was why as he poured himself a drink, his free hand brushed against his gun as a means of self assurance.

As he downed the shot of whiskey and savored the burn that came afterward, Court's thoughts shifted. He thought about his memory, his mind, and how it seemed to want to torture him. The memories were still gone. Even the doctor figured that they should have returned by now, yet here he was without them.

Then, there were the dreams. They went by quickly, making them difficult or almost impossible to understand. He saw people, places, and things, fantastical things that he was sure didn't exist. Towering buildings made of steel and glass that shined like pillars of diamond in the sunlight. Automobiles so advanced that the ones that were around now looked like they should be hitched to a team of horses by comparison.

Court hadn't told anyone about the dreams, not even Bonnie. He could already hear the blonde rancher; 'quit your dreaming and focus on the real world'. Still though, he felt like his mind was trying to tell him something. What exactly that might have been was a mystery. Overall, he was just left with the frustrating feeling that something was wrong.

Now his thoughts shifted again. This time, they settled on Bonnie. He wouldn't say he was smitten with her exactly, but the woman was occupying his thoughts a lot more then he would have liked to admit. He hadn't told her that he'd taken up work as a bounty hunter. That was a yelling match he'd rather avoid. Instead, he'd just told her that he'd found some work that required him to travel and was based out of Armadillo. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

The truth was, he liked what he did now. It scratched the itch he got to travel, it payed well, and it offered plenty of excitement. Granted it was dangerous, but then again what job wasn't out here? The reason he didn't tell her was because he didn't want her worrying about him. In the month or so that had passed since he'd woken up, it was quite clear that Bonnie cared a lot about him and was deeply worried about his well being.

Did she pocess feelings for him beyond that of a concerned friend? Personally, Court didn't know. Deep down he kind of hoped so. But at the same time he hoped she didn't. For what must have been the hundredth time, he found himself weighing the pros and cons of a relationship with Bonnie. The pros were fairly simple; she was self reliant, self sustaining, an excellent shot and rider, and somewhere down the line he'd be running the largest ranch in the state if it led to marriage.

The cons though, they were what stopped him. With his current line of work, he was always in the saddle, riding from place to place as he hunted people down. He wasn't sure he could submit her to that kind of treatment, where he would be gone for days or weeks on end with her having no idea if he would ever come back. There was also the ranch's and Bonnie's personal safety to consider. In this line of work, people held grudges, and tended to try and exact revenge on the person who'd wronged them. If they couldn't get to you personally, they'd hit your land and your loved ones instead. The MacFarlanes had enough trouble with the local gangs without him bringing more attention to them.

Yells came from the back of the barroom, a bunch of hurried voices that were unable to be made out. Court looked in the direction of the noise with a mild disinterest as he downed another shot. From what he could tell, one of the members of the poker game that was usually going on back there had accused another player of cheating, and now it had devolved into a screaming match.

One of them was Jonah, Johnson's deputy. The man he was having a scream fest with was an older man with white hair and spectacles. Court recognized him as the guy who ran the general store across the street. What was his name again?

"You think you can cheat Herbert Moon?" he yelled. Oh yeah, that was it.

"I didn't cheat anyone, old man!" Jonah yelled back. The small crowd that had gathered around them muttered amongst themselves. Some were in agreement with Jonah, others with Moon. Court kept an eye on the rapidly deteriorating situation. Moon wasn't armed from what he could see, but Jonah was, and he was a little trigger happy.

The argument continued back and forth, with Moon continuing to claim that Jonah was cheating, and Jonah continuing to deny the claim. It continued on, both men getting more and more angry. Finally, Moon snapped. He turned, grabbed a pistol from the holster of a ranch hand that wasn't paying attention, and leveled it right between Jonah's eyes.

"I'll teach you not to cheat, you low down, dirty, Jew!" the shopkeep yelled. Before anyone else could react, Court had his own gun level with Moon's temple. The firearm was cocked and ready as Court held it with a steady hand. Letting two half drunk idiots argue over a poker game was one thing. It was when one of those idiots pulled a gun and threatened to turn the whole place into a shooting gallery that he had a problem.

"Drop it, now," he ordered calmly. A bead of sweat appeared on Moon's cheek. He reluctantly lowered the gun and let it fall to the floor.

"Alright that's enough! Moon, you're drunk, go home and sleep it off!" the bartender ordered. Court eased the hammer forward on his revolver before returning it to his holster. The shopkeep walked outside into the storm, muttering under his breath while everyone else went back to doing what they had been doing. Court leaned against the bar and returned to his drink, slightly annoyed by the fact that his thoughts had been interrupted by something so petty.

His thoughts shifted back to his memory again. It was...frustrating to say the least. Every time he looked in the mirror, he'd see the face of a stranger looking back at him. He had no way of knowing who he was, where he came from, and from the looks of things, no one who cared he was gone. It was a sobering thought, but not an unwelcome one. If there was no one waiting for him, then he was free to do whatever he wanted. The problem was, there was someone waiting on him; a blonde haired rancher who'd saved his life. Like a vicious cycle, his thoughts began to repeat themselves again.

The sound of one of the saloon girls screaming snapped him back to reality. This was followed by two loud gun blasts and a body falling into him and knocking him off balance. He turned slightly, trying to figure out what was going on. The woman who had fallen into him was lying on the floor, a pool of blood starting to surround her as she bled out from the shotgun blast she had to her back. Standing in the doorway was Herbert Moon, his form dripping with water from the rain and the barrels of a double barrel shotgun broke open as he raced to reload. Court was on autopilot, drawing his revolver and firing twice. Moon dropped the shotgun and stumbled backwards from the shots, running into the wall behind him. His white apron was turning red with two different spots appearing, one on his chest and another on his stomach.

Clutching his midsection with a groan, the shopkeeper stumbled out the batwing doors before falling down the front stairs and laying curled up in the mud of the street. Court followed him outside, his gun hanging loosely by his side as he stood on the front stoop and watched the man bleed to death with a cold glare.

"Someone get the doctor!" a ranch hand yelled over the noise of the rain. The bounty hunter cocked his revolver and aimed it between the eyes of the man who had spoken up.

"Let him bleed," he ordered coldly. The ranch hand raised his hands in surrender before taking several hasty steps backward. Satisfied that no one would be going for help, Court eased the hammer forward on his gun before returning it to it's holster. Moon had been trying to kill him, of that he had no doubt. But in his drunken state, he'd blasted a young woman instead. In his opinion, Moon fully deserved what he had gotten.

Turning, Court went back inside the saloon with all eyes on him in stunned silence. He gave instructions to the bartender to send the Marshal up to his room, should he come looking for him, before setting off up the stairs. His room was a fairly modest one, a pair of beds, a nightstand with a lamp, an armoe, and a door which led out onto the balcony which wrapped around the front half of the building.

Hanging his hat and jacket on the end of the bed, Court flopped down and stared up at the ceiling. He listened to the rain pelting on the roof and the thunder rumbling in the distance. Before long he dosed off into a much needed dreamless sleep.

Court awoke to the sound of a fist slamming on his door. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes before rolling out of bed and checking the time on his pocket watch. It was just after six in the morning. With a groan, he stood and crossed to the door, barely opening it a crack to see who was bothering him at such an early hour. To his surprise, it was Marshal Johnson.

"Marshal?"

"Mornin' Lonergan. I understand you had quite the night last night," Johnson said, his face remaining stoic, so Court couldn't get a read on him.

"You here to arrest me?"

"No. From what I hear, Moon had a scattergun and a dead girl on the floor to prove he could use it. You just happened to be faster. Reason I'm waking you up this early is I need your help."

"Doing?"

"There's a gang of cattle rustlers held up in Pike's Bason a little ways northeast of here. Ordinarily I wouldn't be overly worried by this, but they've taken a chunk of the MacFarline heard and a few ranch hands to boot. So I'm gonna need all the help I can get," Johnson explained. Court ran his hand up and down his face a few times.

"You're saying you need someone along who can handle a gun and use their head at the same time," he said.

"In no uncertain terms," the Marshal admitted reluctantly. Court let out a sigh. Ordinarily he wouldn't have gotten involved. But these were the MacFarlines who were involved. That alone meant he couldn't walk away.

"Give me a minute to get ready," he said before closing the door.

* * *

The canyon was oddly quiet, if you ignored the sounds of ranch hands yelling at cattle. Johnson sat atop his horse, overlooking what was left of the gang hideout they had just torn through. There were a few tents set up around a central fire, as well as some fencing set up to hold the cattle they had brought in here. One of the tents had caught fire during the shootout, a stray bullet having struck the kerosine lamp that hung at the entrance.

He looked over at Court, who was busy reloading the Winchester Repeater in his hands while he oversaw the ranch hands and cattle that were funneling out of the canyon. The kid had handled himself quite well, proving to be cool under fire and a decent shot to boot.

Johnson would have been lying if he said he didn't want to see a badge pinned to the front of Court's shirt. Jonah and Eli were good deputies, but they were just that, deputies. Neither one of them had what it took to actually step up and assume the Marshal position. Despite all the irk they caused him, Johnson wanted to be sure the people of Cholla Springs were in good hands when he finally retired here in a few years.

"Not bad, Lonergan," he complemented as Court made his way over to him, his rifle resting lazily on his shoulder.

"I always aim to get results, Marshal. You know that," he replied. Johnson couldn't argue with that. In the short time he'd been around, Court had become one of the best bounty hunters in the county, if not the state.

"You can stop by my office in town later and pick up your payment," the Marshal said. To his surprise, the young man waved him off.

"Ah, don't worry about it, Marshal," he said. Johnson leaned forward in the saddle slightly, unsure if he had heard the young man right. Never in his whole carrier had he seen a bounty hunter turn down money.

"You sure, boy?" he asked. Court looked from him to the ranch hands.

"I worked with most of them on the Ranch. The MacFarlines are good people, and friends to boot. It wouldn't be right, accepting money for something like this," he explained. Johnson just shook his head with an amused smile as he produced a cigar. A gun hand with a conscience, now he really had seen it all.

"One more thing, Marshal, Mr. Johnson, sir," Eli said as he came trotting up to the pair, "It's Mr. West Dickins. He's missing." Court looked Johnson's other deputy over with a mild hint of annoyance. Comparatively, he was more level headed and competent then Jonah was, and therefore was the better lawman of the two. However he tended to take the term 'slack jawed idiot' a little too far sometimes, and he hesitated in rough situations, which would get him killed if he wasn't careful.

"Who?" Johnson asked as he stuck a match and lit his cigar.

"Mr. West Dickens. The tonics merchant. He was due in town last week," Eli elaborated. Court and Johnson glanced at each other with raised, questioning eyebrows, neither one of them really being sure what he was talking about. Then, finally, the familiar sounding name stuck a cord, and the Marshal remembered who Eli was talking about.

"Oh! The narcotic and bat piss salesman," he said as he dropped the match and took the cigar from his mouth before turning fully to Court, "cons housewives out of their money with promises of eternal youth."

"Ah," Court said as it sank in, a half grin forming.

"Yes, him, but I think you're being a little unfair," Eli said, glaring at the two of them.

"Truth ain't fair, Eli. You'll have to accept that one day," Court replied.

"He's helped a great many in the county, and a lot of townsfolk are really missing him," Eli continued. Johnson let out a sigh before clenching the cigar back in his teeth.

"You hear that, Lonergan? We just tore through a gang of thieves, and the town is up in arms over a _snake oil salesman._ I am so proud to be serving such a wise and respectable people," he said in frustration.

"One of the reasons why I don't become a lawman, Marshal," Court said. Johnson simply shook his head.

"Can't say that I blame you in that regard. Will you see these people back to the Ranch?" he asked.

"I'll keep an eye on them," Court answered.

"Thanks. I appreciate it. Stop by the office when you're in town next and we'll toast our success here. Come on, Eli," Johnson said before nudging his horse forward. Court watched them go before joining the others and beginning the long trek back to the Ranch.

* * *

The sun was sinking in the west as Court rode onto the Ranch at the back of the group, trying to both maintain a low profile and watch for potential dangers. He didn't get very far as Bonnie came trotting up to the group on her horse.

"Thank God, I was afraid we'd never see any of you again," she said, relief clearly visible in her form.

"It was the Marshal 'n Lonergan, Ms," one of the ranch hands replied, pointing backwards toward Court and the direction they had just come from. Bonnie sat up a little straighter in the saddle when she noticed Court at the back of the group. She waited, and then fell in beside him as they rode forward.

"You helped Leigh Johnson with this?" she asked.

"I was in town and the Marshal came and asked for my help," he explained.

"If you keep this up, we'll be indebted to you," Bonnie joked. Court gave a half smile and a snort at that.

"You guys helped me out when you didn't need to. I figured it was only right to return the favor," he said. By now, it was almost totally dark out as they came to a halt in front of the shack Court had first stayed in. After the day he had, the young man was too tired to ride back to Armadillo. In the morning he would go, but for now, a quick rest was what he needed.

To his surprise, Bonnie followed him into his shack. She closed the door and then caught him up in a bear hug before he could light a lamp.

"I missed you," she confessed.

"Bonnie, I..."

"Where have you been, Court? I haven't seen you in weeks, and then you show up out of no where leading a group of kidnapped ranch hands," she said.

"It's..well..."

"Spill, Court. Now."

"I've been bounty hunting, alright? Johnson knew I was good with a gun and he asked me to help," he said. Bonnie looked up at him in silence, yet the darkness of the shack kept him from seeing her face and letting him guess what she was thinking. Then, she slapped him, hard.

"Stupid man! You're gonna get yourself killed!" she snapped.

"But.." She silenced him with another slap. Then, to his surprise, she kissed him. When they parted, she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest.

"Stupid man, never thinking about anyone but yourself..." she said hoarsely. Court hesitantly brought his arms up and wrapped her in a hug of his own. To his relief, she didn't try to pull away or shrug him off.

"If I had known how you felt I would have stuck around more," he said.

"Guess we're both stupid in that regard," she said, earning a grin from him.

"So what happens now?" he asked.

"Shut up and enjoy the moment, you stupid man," she replied before kissing him again.

 **And cut. There's been some new developments, and some action. What did you all think? Drop a review or a PM, let me know what you liked or didn't like, and I'll see you all next time.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys, I got another chapter for ya. It's a little short, but it's got action and plot details, so with that, let's get on with it:**

Court sat up quickly, panting and in a sweat, his hand groping for his gun. After a moment, the sleep left his mind and he was able to think clearly. It was dark out, and he was in his little shack at the Ranch, indicating that he hadn't been asleep that long. A quick glance at his pocket watch confirmed this as it was just past midnight.

Once again, the exact elements of the dream escaped him, slipping away into the muddled mists of his mind. This was starting to become a regular occurrence, and the resulting insomnia was starting to annoy him. Knowing that he was now wide awake, Court slipped his feet over the side of the bed and sat up fully.

Although he couldn't remember the dream, he could remember what had gone on before he had went to bed. A small goofy smile came over his face as he remembered the details of his kissing session with Bonnie. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't been there, and he still had a hard time grasping that it had, in fact, happened.

Things had gotten heated quickly between the two of them, and when they finally managed to stop long enough to breath and then reclaim their senses there were a few buttons undone on Bonnie's blouse. Court would have been lying if he said that he didn't want things to go further then that, but Bonnie had been raised a lady, and there were no further advances beyond what had happened. She did make him promise that he would still be around in the morning though, and then had headed back to the main house with one last parting kiss.

Standing up and slipping on his gun belt, Court made his way outside and mounted Cochise. He'd promised he wouldn't leave, but that didn't mean he couldn't go for a short midnight ride to try and clear his head in order to get some sleep. Besides, pretty much all of his gear aside from his revolver was still in the cabin. Not even his hat sat in it's usual spot on his head, so that had to be an indication that he was coming back.

Riding out under the full moon did little to quiet his thoughts. All of his usual worries were there; his memory, his monitory situation, Bonnie, to name a few. But there was something else. The image of sickly looking young man with alfalfa colored hair kept popping into his head. It was frustrating, because Court knew deep down that he knew exactly who this person was. Yet every single time he tried to bring up a name to go with the face, it would slip away.

Court found himself on the cliff overlooking the river. His dismounted from Cochise and tied the horse off to a tree before walking out to the edge. He kicked a few stones off before plopping down and folding his legs. The moon shined off of the river, and cast a silver glow over the entire river valley sprawled out before him.

It reminded him of an oil painting, how the light of the moon and the clouds and the landscape all mixed together in a vast array of grays, blues, browns, and blacks. The view was quite breath taking, and the young bounty hunter found his chin resting on his palm as he stared off into the vastness before him, as if looking long enough would reveal all the secrets of the world.

"Hello Court, Court Lonergan." Court jumped at the sound of the new voice coming from his right. He looked and realized there was a man standing not too far from him. He wore a top hat and a nice suit and tie, and had a finely trimmed mustache under his nose. The young man's eyes narrowed in confusion. There hadn't been the sound of a horse riding up, or even footsteps of him approaching. It was like this man had appeared out of thin air.

"Do I know you?" he asked, getting to his feet.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Your head isn't exactly in the best of places these days, is it?" the man asked. Now Court was not only confused, but concerned as well. Only one or two other people knew about his memory problems outside of himself and Bonnie.

"What's your game, mister?" he asked.

"I don't have a game, Court. Well, not exactly. I'm just here to check up on you, see how you're adjusting to your new life," the man said. Court didn't answer, but continued to regard the stranger before him. This was the first time he had encountered someone who seemed to have known him beforehand.

"How do you know me?" he asked. The man regarded him with what seemed to be amusement before he clasped his hands behind his back and looked out over the cliff.

"I can't tell you everything. That was apart of the agreement."

"Agreement?"

"Oh yes. You wanted a new life, far away from everything that you knew. And that included your memories as well. A fresh start, a clean slate."

"So you're telling me you took my memories and then dropped me in the middle of the road," Court said.

"There's a little more to it then that, but basically yes."

"You realize how insane that sounds."

"Yet here we stand, still talking," the stranger pointed out. As much as Court wanted to dismiss him, there were too many things this man knew that he simply shouldn't. That was why he hadn't just turned and walked off.

"You still have a few residual memories, don't you. Places that shouldn't exist, people that you should know but don't," he continued.

"What, you gonna take those, too?" Court asked.

"Oh no. I'm here to help you, Court, to offer some form of comfort, or at least an understanding of what's going though your head," he answered.

"And that would be?" The Stranger, however, wagged a finger.

"Uh uh, you've got to earn that. Nothing is free, you should know that by now." Court fought the urge to draw his gun and shoot this man between the eyes.

"What do you want?"

"There's a man planning on making trouble for the 3:10 train to Blackwater this coming afternoon in Armadillo. How you handle the situation will decide how much information you get," the man said.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then continue to wander this land with no memory past a month ago. The choice is yours, Mr. Lonergan," the Stranger said before he started to walk away. He passed into the shadows of a tree and then disappeared from view. Court watched him go, his personal feeling of being creeped out having been peaked. Rather then say another word, he collected his horse and started the ride back to the Ranch. He'd had enough weirdness for one evening.

* * *

The rays of the morning sun shone through the window, rousing Court from his sleep. He sat up and rubbed his hand up and down his face a few times, clearing the sleep from his face while at the same time feeling the stubble that was forming on his cheeks and jaw. He'd have to stop by the barber next time he was in town.

The sound of the door opening cause him to look up. There he found Bonnie, leaning in the doorway.

"Mornin', Court," she said.

"Mornin' Bonnie," he replied.

"You got any big plans for the day?" she asked. Court worked his jaw a couple of times as he thought over the question. He had a train to keep an eye on during the afternoon, but other than that he didn't really have any plans.

"Eat breakfast maybe. Take a ride into town," he answered.

"I think I'll ride with you, let me get my horse saddled up," she said before disappearing, heading off toward the corrals. Court sat up, slid his boots on, and put his hat on top of his head. With that, he walked out into the morning sun. He yawned as he paused briefly to enjoy the warmth he felt from it before swinging up into the saddle.

The sound of hooves on packed earth reached his ears, causing him to turn his head toward the noise. Bonnie was trotting up on her own horse, her blonde hair having a natural glow in the sunlight and a small pleasant smile was present on her face. At the sight of her, any second thoughts that might have been running through his head vanished instantly. If she made him feel this good, what could be so wrong about it?

They rode in relative silence until they were off the ranch and well on their way to town. While they were enjoying each others company, Court could sense an underlying tension between them. There were things unsaid, actions not yet taken, and yet they both maintained a strict silence, as if one of them simply speaking would cause the other to vanish.

Finally, as they neared the final bend in the road before town, Court yanked on the reigns and brought his horse to a halt. Confused, Bonnie brought her own horse to a halt before turning and looking back at him.

"What's wrong?" she asked as he slowly rode up beside her. Without bothering to give her a response, he leaned over and kissed her. Whether she returned the kiss or slapped him out of his saddle, he didn't care. There was a chance he could get killed this afternoon, so he was going to live without any regrets.

To his utter relief, she returned the kiss, leaning into him so he didn't have to bridge the gap between them so far. They stayed that way until the need to breathe forced them to separate.

"What was that for?" Bonnie asked, her cheeks turning a crimson color.

"In my line of work, you can't afford to take anything for granted," he replied. She nodded her head in understanding, and together the two of them rode into Armadillo. The small town was abuzz with activity despite the unforgiving relentlessness of the sun. Court checked his watch as they tied off their horses in front of the saloon. It was just a little bit after one in the afternoon now.

Looking toward the train station, the young bounty hunter didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Not yet, anyway. His plan was to stick around and keep an eye on the place should something actually go wrong. Part of him wanted to head down to the Marshal's Office and get Johnson involved with this.

He quickly dismissed that plan. Getting the Marshal's support would require evidence that something was going to happen. All Court had to go off of was the word of some random guy he'd met in the middle of the night. Part of him still debated whether or not the whole thing had been a dream. Dream or not, there was no harm in hanging around for a few hours just to be safe.

Bonnie crossed the street to the General Store, leaving Court to lean against one of the posts on the porch of the saloon as he waited and watched. The afternoon sun was sweltering, and he was seriously starting to consider just throwing in the towel and going inside just to get out of the sun. That is, until he noticed a few low lives hanging out near the tracks by the cattle pins.

They weren't wearing the red of the Bollard Twins, but he could tell they weren't the usual cowhands that worked the pens either. For one, most of them had longer hair and were unshaven. Cowhands usually kept their hair and beards short so nothing could get tangled by the cattle. That, and a few of them had shotguns, rather than just a pistol in a holster.

His interest now peaked, Court took to watching this small band of misfits. They mostly just stood around, talking amongst themselves or occasionally leaning out over the tracks in order to look for a train. Out of habit, he drew his own gun and spun the cylinders, double checking that all six chambers had a bullet in them. Satisfied, he returned the revolver to it's holster before he went back to watching the small group.

In the distance came a faint train whistle. Court looked in the direction the noise had come from and saw a cloud of black smoke moving toward town from the west. The train rounded the bend and came into the station, bellowing steam, ringing it's bell, and blowing it's whistle. Metal screeched against metal as the brakes were applied and the train lumbered to a halt.

The small group moved toward the train with everyone around them being obvious to their presence. Workers loaded and unloaded crates while passengers both disembarked and climbed on board. None of them noticed the small group of heavily armed men boarding the engine. Court had already started toward them. What exactly he planned to do, that part he hadn't figured out yet. All he knew was that he had to do something, and quick.

A shotgun blast shattered the peaceful afternoon, causing people to scream and panic, running from the source of the noise. Court surged forward, leaping over the first of the wooden pins and drawing his revolver in the process. One of the men with a shotgun had leveled his weapon and blasted the engineer in the gut, sending the man toppling out of the cab and into the dust on the other side of the train.

Court took aim and fired a quick shot with his own gun. The bullet bounced off the metal frame of the cab window, causing the man he had been shooting at to take cover. He thumbed the hammer and fired again, this time striking a different man in the shoulder. The man who had shot the engineer spun around and fired his second barrel at Court.

Wood splinters flew everywhere as the fence in front of him took the blast of buckshot. Court hit the dirt, taking cover before firing a third shot blindly. He was rewarded with another ping as the bullet struck the side of the locomotive. More bullets smacked into the wood, forcing him lower out of instinct.

He could only hope that someone would come to his aid. Be it the Marshal or the station master with a shotgun, he didn't care. Popping up quickly, he squeezed off another shot, managing to clip another one of the shooters and send him tumbling from the cab. He ducked again as more gunfire tore up the fence and ground around him.

"Lonergan, get outta there, you're a sitting duck!" Court glanced back to find that Marshal Johnson, as well as Jonah, Eli, and a few others had come running up the street, all of them armed to the teeth. Virtually all of them opened fire on the engine, causing the shooters to take cover and giving Court the chance to sprint for the station itself.

As he ran, he quickly reloaded his revolver, allowing the spent casings to fall to the ground while he slid new ones into the chambers with practiced ease. With this task done, he turned and ran towards the train. Virtually all of the passengers had taken cover when the shooting started, either ducking into the station itself or cowering in their seats while still on board.

Court ignored them as he climbed boarded the passenger car before climbing onto the roof of the train. While the chances of being spotted and shot were much higher up here, the elevation gave him an advantage over his opponents. Assuming one of the hurriedly deputized men Johnson had brought with him didn't shoot him by accident.

Reaching the front of the passenger car, Court was rewarded with an unobstructed view down into the cab of the engine. The remaining two shooters were pinned down by fire from Johnson and his deputies. At most, they could only pop up for a quick blind shot before taking cover again, not knowing if they managed to hit a deputy, some of the fencing, or the saloon on the other side of the street.

Raising his revolver, Court fanned the hammer and fired it three times. The first bullet stuck the man closest to him in the side of the head, killing him instantly, while the second and third hit the final man in the leg and lower stomach. He was left sprawled out on the cab floor, screaming in pain from having been shot twice.

The young bounty hunter kept his gun trained on the last remaining man, watching him closely as the lawmen came forward to arrest him. With the shootout now over, Court lowered his gun and breathed a sigh of relief. From the looks of things, no one beyond the outlaws had been hurt.

"Boy, you just can't seem to stay away from trouble, can you?" Johnson called up to him. Court holstered his gun before climbing down from his perch.

"Trouble seems to like me, Marshal," he replied when his boots were firmly back on the ground. The Marshal just gave a small chuckle and a shake of his head before starting off in the direction of his office. A crowd was starting to form just outside of the station, all of them eager to see what had happened.

Court just pushed his way past them as he started back in the direction of the General Store. All of this had better be worth some answers. If not from the Stranger, than from the survivor they had pulled from the train. He didn't walk very far up the street before he suddenly found himself enveloped in a hug from a certain blonde haired woman.

"I heard shots," she said, her voice filled with concern and muffled due to the fact that he had said it directly into his chest. Court brought his hands up and returned the hug.

"I ain't hit, Bonnie," he replied.

"But you could have been." Yes, he could have been. But he wasn't. In the moment, he couldn't think about things like that. It was do or die, as simple as that.

"But I wasn't. And for that I'm thankful," he said.

"Me too," Bonnie said as she pulled back. Then she slapped him, hard. He reeled back, having not expected the strike in the slightest.

"Stupid man, I can't bring you to town for anything," she growled out before stomping off toward her horse. Court looked after her with a bewildered look on his face. He'd never understood women, and that wasn't likely to change anytime soon.

* * *

"His name is Norman Deek. He's one of the big shots in the Williamson Gang," Johnson explained as he lit a cigar. The Marshal was standing on the porch of his office, while Court was leaning forward in his saddle. It had been a few days since the shootout, and in that time Johnson had gotten their prisoner medical attention before he began interrogating him.

"Williamson Gang. That the group that operates out of that old fort down along the river?" Court asked, the name ringing a bell or two.

"That's the one. They've been expanding their operations for a while now. Seems like Norman's job was to steel that train the other day and then crash it in the tunnel north of here," Johnson explained. Court could help but frown at the sound of that.

"What good would that do?"

"That tunnel is a funnel point for the main line. Take it out of commission and all trains coming from the east are blocked."

"And Williamson would want to do this, why?"

"Well aside from disrupting travel and commerce, he basicly be free to do whatever he wanted. The army would have to march in overland to put down anything he stirred up, and by the time they got here he would have already vanished back into the brush," Johnson said. Court couldn't help but frown at that.

"So there's some kind of plan on the books then," he said.

"Norman hasn't said yet. But, a few more days of my hospitality and I'm sure he'll be willing to share," Johnson said, grinning around his cigar.

"That tunnel isn't very far from the Ranch. I'll keep an eye on it, make sure no one tries anything else," Court said. Johnson nodded at that.

"I'll send word if Norman spills anything or if something else happens," he said. Court nodded before sitting up in the saddle and starting to turn toward the road. Johnson placed his hand on the front of the horse's face, stopping him for a moment.

"Lonergan, be careful. This is gonna get worse before it get's better," he said. The young bounty hunter nodded again.

"Try not to get yourself shot, Marshal," he said before riding off.

 **And cut. So, new developments for everyone. How will this play out? Remember to Review or PM, make up theories or ask questions, let me know what you liked or didn't like, and I'll see you all next time.**


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